Shapes and Numbers

What do you prefer to look at?  A digital or an analogue clock?


For myself, I prefer the analogue because I can visualise the information. With the analogue I don’t have to look carefully to absorb the information, the position of the dials tell it all. The brain handles analogue information quickly because it works better with shapes than with numbers. Numbers must first be converted for them to have a meaning. You need to attach labels to numbers to trigger an image in your brain.

Models in fashion and dummies in dress-making, are used to convey analogue information. Your brain pulls out a previously stored picture from its “drawers”. If you’ve been brought up on the imperial system with inches, feet, yards and miles and the number comes up in centimetres, it’s of little use because "you don't see it”. You’ve got to convert the number to the units your brain has in store. Being told that someone is 1.70 metres high, doesn’t do it for you.

Think of a gap 1/8th of an inch. You can see it. That would not be the case if you are told that the gap is 3 mms unless you are used to the metric system.

In Japanese writing such as kanji, symbols are shapes that represent real physical things. The characters look like the things they represent. A tree kanji can then be put together to represent a forest and a couple of strokes may be the road to the forest. These characters are pictograms;  they have in a sort of shorthand a lot of information that in our alpha-numeric system would need many letters and words to express.

To understand the world around you, you need to appreciate the beauty in shapes. Nature is not described by numbers.Take pictures to appreciate your world! There's the real thing, there's a picture, and then there's a description of it. Pictures are the next best thing.

Voices in the Cemetery

There were always stories about strange goings on in the cemetery, and people avoided the short cut to the town if they could help it. Dimitris was not superstitious. He had taken the short cut out of the village because he was in a hurry to get home. He took the dirt road through the vineyards before reaching the high walls that surrounded the cemetery.

He stumbled a few times on the rough muddy path. As he approached the cemetery gate he tried not to look. The black cypress trees were standing guard over the graves. The north wind was now whistling past the corner of the wall making an unearthly noise. Seems the demons want to invade the earth and they send storms to soften up and frighten the mortals, he thought. The wind caught his umbrella and lifted it like a kite making him run behind it. As he came alongside the entrance to the cemetery he saw the rusty iron door whose latch had come undone, swinging aimlessly making a squeaking noise. Never mind, there was little fear of anyone coming out, he thought.

The rain whipped up by the wind made it difficult to see very far, but something by the open door inside the cemetery made him take a closer look. He glanced momentarily to his left and felt a shiver as he thought he saw some kind of movement over one of the graves. The dim light from the lantern fixed to the cross was reflecting on a puddle. It was enough for him to see what he thought was a shadowy form rising up from the nearby slab. Oh my God! he uttered a few words to break the eerie silence. "It’s a terrible night," he said out loud when a voice came back croaking and weak.

"Yes it’s damp and cold in here."

He didn’t look to see where the voice came from... He just took off and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Splashing through mud and water, he muttered a short prayer as he went taking care not to look back. He ran till he reached the village taverna. Seeing his disheveled state, people gathered round him. "What the hell happened to you Demitris? You look terrible, all the blood’s drained from your face," said the barman as he poured a drink to warm him up.

"I heard a voice in the cemetery. I was just going past the gate when I said something to break the silence and I heard a voice answer me!" He gulped down the drink and asked for another.

"The mind can play strange tricks on the senses" said the barman and everyone agreed.

"There are no such things as voices from the dead," said his friend Grigoris. "You just imagined it - not surprising though in this weather."

"Let’s put some money together as a wager. Anyone daring enough to go down to the cemetery and close the gate collects the kitty," said the barman as he looked around.

"Good idea," the others replied as they looked at each other for a volunteer.

"What about you Grigoris?" The barman said. "Hundred Euros to be had."

"All right I’ll go," replied Grigoris reluctantly, looking at the money on the table.

"Yes well, but we want proof that you’ve been. Bring back one of those lanterns that hung from the crosses over the graves. That way we'll know that you went inside," said the barman.

"It’s a deal," Grigoris said, and taking a powerful torch, put on his coat and hat and made for the door. It didn't take him long to leave the village. As he got to the cemetery gate he also said, "It’s a lousy night."

Again a weak voice replied,"Yes its a terrible night," and with that, he didn't stay around to find out who had spoken, and he forgot all about the lantern. He turned and ran. He got back to the taverna in no time at all, and in pretty much the same state as Dimitris.

"Well? Where's the lantern? What happened? Don’t tell us that you too heard voices," said the barman.

"I heard him/it as I hear you now!" The others gathered round. No one was joking about it now. No corny remarks. As poor Grigoris was looking towards the door half expecting it to fly open, the barman spoke again.

"We ought to tell the priest. He should do something about it."

"I’d also suggest we tell the police chief," said another man. The word spread quickly and a crowd gathered in the square. The priest came out and it now all looked like a carnival with the deacon holding the patron saint's banner and the priest behind with the silver encrusted bible. They all carried lights to illuminate the dirt track as the procession slowly made its way.

With all this commotion going on, any spirit would have probably taken fright and disappeared in advance. If nothing happened this time it might appear as if Dimitris and Grigoris had imagined the whole thing. They'd look rather foolish and would never live this down. The police chief looked at them suspiciously supposing that they’d been drinking.

"Go ahead and repeat what you said before," the police chief told Demitris as the priest started his chant to exorcise any spirits that may have been lurking around.

Again the voice came back. "Can’t get any peace here any more." The voice came from the ruins of the old chapel behind the wall, and a rustling noise indicated that there was someone there, something physical. The priest held up his Bible and started chanting "Kyrie Eleyson," but the police chief was not convinced. He went over and seeing a bundle on the floor, kicked at it.

There was a feeble shout. "Ouch, why did you do that?" The "bundle" rose up holding his side.

"Ah ha," said the police chief "I might have known it."

"The only spirit here, is what’s left in that bottle.” The chief nodded at his constable who picked up the tramp and marched him off.